Unfinished Business
by Mimulus
Summary: Ida's back! And this time she's caught up in an affair which seems to involve a secret from Holmes's past... NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

A/N - OK, this is a little bit complicated.

Firstly, welcome back to anyone who read 'The Case of the Academic Abduction', this story follows right on from that, and features Ida and Clarence as well as, of course, Holmes and Watson. This is hopefully going to be in a similar style to Academic Abduction: fairly light-hearted. But in the background of this one is some darker events that took place during Holmes' student days, and my plan is to explore that in another story –_Distractions_. Now, I thought it might be fun to run the stories simultaneously, so that revelations in both can play off each other in the later chapters when it becomes clearer how they relate. But I'm keeping both stories as (hopefully) stand alone, separate pieces of fiction, so that one can be completely Holmes-centric and not get taken over by my OCs (though I'm still taking a fair few liberties, but hey, aren't we all?). Anyway, if that made sense, basically, you can read this one, you can read _Distractions_ (you can use the back button if I've put you off with all this unnecessary complication), _OR_ you can read them both at once (that's how I'll be posting the chapters), which should eventually pay off if this plan doesn't backfire on me spectacularly.

But now, on with the story!

* * *

Ida bent her head at an angle of 45 degrees and considered whether the new hat had been a mistake. Hats in general did not suit her, but this black straw one with a thin purple trim had looked quite stylish on the dummy in the milliner's shop. And ever since the…incident…on the Thames her old hat had been embarrassingly shapeless.

'Oh, nice hat…'

Ida didn't turn round.

'I heard you come up the stairs, Clarence,' she said, 'but that doesn't change the fact that you should _knock_…I could have clients in here you know…'

Ida knew without looking that he was turning his head from side to side in an elaborate show of looking for the non existent clients.

'And the fact that I don't have any clients isn't the point…'

'I could have asked downstairs if anyone had already come up…' said Clarence in an uncharacteristic display of protracted reasoning

'But you didn't,' said Ida, turning round at last.

'Ida…are you still angry about the whole…boat…incident?'

'No…' said Ida, taking off the hat and replacing it in its box on the floor, 'I'm in a bad mood because I haven't had any clients for a week now.'

'Oh, hang clients! It's a beautiful day, let's go to St James's Park…'

'_Clarence_!'

'Yes, yes…alright,' he said, in pained tones, 'I'm a spoilt lazy aristocrat who has no idea what it is to work for a living…'

Ida grinned, and turned towards the fireplace to hide it.

'You said it, Clarence…' she replied, drily.

He snorted, and went to sit in her armchair, saying

'Have you seen today's _Times_?'

'No, not yet.'

'They've solved the Norwood case! Turns out it wasn't the clerk after all. The old man faked his own death, would you believe…'

'Really? That's quite something…'

'…yes, says here that the policeman…' the paper rustled as Clarence sought the information, 'Inspector Lestrade, yes, says here that he thought MacFarlane was innocent all along, despite the apparent evidence against him… What a clever chap, eh?'

'Mmm,' said Ida, not really listening,

'Still, I'm surprised that your Mr Holmes wasn't in on this one…'

'He's not _my_ Mr Holmes…'

'No, I know….but I thought you said he was a famous detective?'

'He is…' said Ida, going to sit on the edge of her bed.

Clarence turned the pages of the paper, then an idea struck him

'Hey, do you think he'd be able to find you some clients?'

Ida stared at Clarence in disbelief, seeking some sign in his face that this was an attempt at a joke. But his earnest expression was completely guileless.

'No, Clarence,' she managed, 'In all honesty, I don't think he'd much approve of my doing this at all…'

'But you're very good!' said Clarence, 'I mean, you found that lady's dog for her, didn't you? And you found Mrs Locke's diamond necklace…'

'…in her handbag…'

'…well, yes…but you saved that poor maid's job – I mean, if you _hadn't_ found the necklace then she'd probably have been arrested as a thief…'

'Clarence …I've helped out a few absent minded ladies…that's hardly _detective_ work'

'But they paid you, didn't they? And you solved the mystery of the great paintbrush robbery of old London town…'

'…Clarence, he only borrowed your paintbrush...'

'…It was _my_ paintbrush! An artist's relationship with his paintbrush is…'

'…please, stop. And give me a bit of the paper to read, will you?'

He took half the pages, folded them, and tossed them over to Ida. They came apart in mid air and fluttered to the floor. Ida reached out and caught one. Bringing it up to eye level she saw that it was the personal ads.

_Lost: one silver topped walking ebony walking cane, left on the number 32 omnibus. Sentimental value, £10 reward for its return._

_Found: brass carriage clock, under bench at Kings Cross Station, ask at stationmaster's office. Clock will be relinquished to owner who can provide detail of the inscription on the back._

_Help wanted: at twelve Victoria Crescent, experienced housemaid for cleaning and housework is needed today! Must have good letter from your previous residence detailing exemplary conduct. Servants must conduct themselves appropriately and fittingly. Insolence etc. is not tolerated. Otherwise, situation offers board, nutrition and time (Sundays) off. This most desirous of situations really does require experience of house work. _

'Listen to this, Clarence,' Ida read the advertisement aloud.

'You thinking of applying?' he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste, 'I thought you…'

'…no! Don't you think there's something odd about it?'

'Well, yes, it sounds like it was written by someone with only a passing acquaintance with the English language…'

'…and there are so many redundant words,' mused Ida, 'this could have been expressed in a sentence…'

Clarence made no reply, he was busying himself with the crossword.

Ida stared at the queer paragraph, and read it slowly again, tracing each word with her finger. She read it a third time…and…realisation dawned, spreading through her like a warm glow

'I _see_...!' she exclaimed softly. 'Clarence?'

'Hmmm?'

'I need you to write me a reference. An exemplary reference, saying what a well conducted, respectful and absolutely not insolent housemaid I am…'


	2. Chapter 2

A/N, A big apology for the massive delay in posting this chapter. If anyone's still interested in reading it, I hope to be able to post the chapters more regularly from now on!

* * *

Ida carefully removed the reference from her bag and peeled away the blotting paper she had hastily stuck to it when leaving the house. Thankfully it was un smudged, and now the ink was dry. Clarence, despite many protests at being asked to forge a reference, and demands to know what she was planning, had done an excellent job. The crest of the Fortescue Family of Keswick adorned the top of the page, and the looping copperplate handwriting beneath expressed nothing but praise.

The bus in which she rode jerked to a halt.

'Miss!' called the conductor, 'this is the stop you want for Victoria Crescent.'

'Thanks,' said Ida, rising from her seat and making for the door.

The wide tree lined streets and tall windowed houses of this area exuded affluence, as Ida had anticipated. She scanned the names of the residential roads she passed, and looked out for someone to ask for directions. The only other person in the street was a girl of about her age, wearing a black cotton dress and a sour expression…

'Excuse me, Miss?'

'What?'

'Would you happen to know the way to Victoria Crescent?'

The girl looked her up and down with a sneer

'After the maid's job advertised in the Times I suppose?'

'Well…'

'…so was I. There's no job.'

'It's been filled already?' said Ida, disappointment evident in her voice

'No.'

'Then, I don't understand…'

'…there never _was_ a job! I spoke to the housekeeper, she's been sending girls away all day. The lady of the house is off her head.'

'…so it was she who placed the advert?'

'Yes. The housekeeper says she's gone daft ever since her daughter ran off with some rogue…'

'…really?'

'…I say there's no excuse for getting people's hopes up like that. I can't afford to waste a bus fare coming over here on some crazy old woman's whim…'

'…too right!' said Ida, 'I'd like to give her a piece of my mind!'

'Me too!'

'So…um…do you suppose you could tell me the way to the house?'

The girl stared at her

'Are you serious? They'll never listen to you!'

'Probably not, but…you know…'

A scowl suddenly passed over her features,

'You think there _is_ a job, don't you, you think they turned me away because I wasn't good enough!'

'No…no…'

'Hah, you can't trick me! I know your game. But it won't pay off. If you're so cock sure, Miss, just keep going the way you're headed. You'll soon see I told you the truth!'

'I…um…'

The girl shoved past her and continued towards the bus stop. With a shrug of her shoulders, Ida carried on in the direction she had been going in.

'Victoria Crescent', muttered Ida to herself under her breath as she saw the road sign. She smoothed her skirt and self consciously stood up a little straighter before making the turning.

The houses in this cul de sac were even grander than those she had been walking past since the bus stop, and had sizeable front gardens with tall hedges and lawns clipped to bowling green-smoothness. She walked past numbers 2, 4, 6 and 8…and then saw that a pair of men were standing, deep in conversation, in front of the next house but one. She stood for a moment, taking in their appearance. Something about the taller man seemed somehow…familiar, but she couldn't quite place…

_Mr Holmes!_she exclaimed inwardly, as he happened to turn his head slightly to the left, revealing the unmistakeable profile. She had stumbled on something much bigger than she had expected. Neither man seemed to have noticed her yet, so she walked a few more steps then dropped to one knee in the shadow of the hedge, and fiddled with her shoelace, straining to hear their conversation…

'Mr Hertford…I wish I could be of more help.'

'Sherlock, please! If you cannot assist us then there is not a man in all England…'

'Mr Hertford, again…you have my deepest sympathies, and…'

'Damn it all, Sherlock, if you won't do it for me, at least do it for Morris's sake!'

'Mr Hertford. Believe me when I say that if there was anything I could do…'

'…are you telling me my daughter is lost to me forever?'

Ida saw a flicker of pain flash over Holmes' already drawn face

'Good day, Mr Hertford,' he said stiffly, 'Please give my regards to your wife.'

The other man merely turned on his heel without a word. Holmes made a brief motion towards him, then shook himself, stood up a little straighter, and began to walk towards where Ida crouched, beginning to wish she had found a more discreet place from which to eavesdrop. It seemed as though he were going to walk straight past, when his hankerchief fluttered to the ground beside her. Swooping to pick it up, he spoke without looking at her

'I know who you work for and…'

'…Mr Holmes,' Ida whispered, 'it's me!'

He flashed her a look, and his eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise.

'I…sort of…live in London now…' Ida babbled, feeling as though the silence ought to be filled, and wishing that she could stand up so she felt less like a schoolgirl being scolded.

'I have no interest in how you live, Miss Greene,' he said, 'provided you keep out of this business. I don't know what brought you here, but leave _now_. This family has had enough grief without fools like you blundering about…'

'I came here to apply for a job!' exclaimed Ida. She detected no sign in Holmes' face that he knew what she was talking about. It could be that he was very good at acting…or that he did not in fact know about the strange advert in the Times.

'The Hertfords don't need a maid.'

'Well, _if_ you'll excuse me, I'd like to ask them myself…'

Holmes exhaled sharply, and stood up, suppressed anger written every line of his form.

'Mr Holmes…' she whispered, as loudly as she dared, but he paid her no heed. He stalked off down the road like a stiffly jointed automaton. Ida shivered slightly to see him go.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: thanks for the reviews guys, I'm glad you're still interested in Ida's antics!

* * *

As Ida approached Number Twelve Victoria Street, she saw that Mr Hertford had not yet re entered the house. Instead he was standing, his back to the road, his hands in the pockets of his coat, the very picture of despondency. 

'Sir?'

The word was out of her mouth before she'd even thought about it.

'Mr Hertford?'

He turned round and stared at her dully,

'I realise that this is quite presumptuous, Mr Hertford…'

'…Who…?'

Ida reached into her pocket and proffered a piece of paper. He unfolded it and gave it a cursory glance.

'The trade entrance is round the back, Miss Greene,' he said, wearily,

'Oh!' Ida exclaimed, reaching into her pocket again, 'sorry, no, I meant to give you this…'

Blushing, she took the forged reference back, and handed him one of her newly made up 'private detective' cards.

'Is this some kind of a joke?'

'I can assure you, Mr Hertford, that…'

'…what gave you the idea that I was in need of…' he held out the card towards her between two of his fingertips, with an expression of disdain, 'your services?'

Ida decided to play the one remaining ace in her dwindling hand.

'I can find your daughter for you, Mr Hertford.'

In a swift movement he had stepped forward and grasped her wrist in a grip of iron

'_You eavesdropping little tart…_'

'Let me go, Mr Hertford,' said Ida, as calmly as she could, 'or I shall scream loud enough to bring your whole household down here…'

He dropped her arm, shoving her away in the same movement

'Get out of my sight.'

Ida took a single step backwards, then stood her ground.

'I offered you help, Mr Hertford, help which perhaps no one else can give you. But if you don't want to find out where your daughter is, and what it is that your wife knows about where she's gone, then that's your affair. Good day, sir,'

A heartbeat.

Two.

Mr Hertford still stood, a slightly bulbous eyed statue, giving no indication of his response. Ida made as if to turn away.

'Wait…' he called, his voice betraying desperation

Ida fought to keep a self satisfied smile from spreading across her face, left him hanging in suspense for two more heartbeats…then turned back around.

…………………

If there was one thing that she had sworn never to do again in her life it was scrubbing other people's floors. Her hands had even been beginning to soften since living in London. And yet, here she was, on her hands and knees, cleaning the hearth in Mrs Hertford's bedroom. The lady herself was reading in her private study that adjoined the room.

The reaction of the rest of the servants in the household to her sudden appointment as a parlourmaid had run from suspicious to outright hostile. For the master of the house to have made such an appointment himself was completely unorthodox. Ida suspected that if she had to stay here any length of time the housekeeper in particular was likely to make things very difficult for her. However, this seemed to be the best way to find out more about what was going on at number 12, Victoria Crescent.

Mr Hertford had been loath to suspect that his wife actually knew anything about their daughter's disappearance, and Ida had only been vague about her reasoning, not wishing to reveal the newspaper advertisement just yet, but the level of his distress was such that he was willing to try anything, and had reluctantly agreed to Ida's plan.

He had not been able to provide her with much more information. Four days ago, the only child of he and Mrs Hertford – their daughter Emily - had gone shopping, somewhere in central London, and had not returned. That was all.

But it couldn't be quite all. Because when she asked whether he had contacted the police, Mr Hertford had looked decidedly uncomfortable, before launching into a tirade about the general inefficacy and pig-headedness of the elite of Scotland Yard.

A door creaked suddenly open, and Ida bent to her scrubbing with renewed vigour, fearing the housekeeper had come to inspect her labours. But it wasn't the outer door of the bedroom, it was the inner door which led to the study.

With a rustle of skirts, Mrs Hertford passed her by without a second glance.

_Probably can't tell any of her servants apart_, mused Ida, some of her old resentment re surfacing, but then she reminded herself what an awful situation the poor woman was going through.

An awful situation, without a doubt, but that newspaper advertisement had suggested that Mrs Hertford was not entirely in the dark about her daughter. And now Ida had a chance to try and find out a little more. As soon as she was satisfied that Mrs Hertford's footsteps had receded down the corridor sufficiently, she scrambled to her feet, dusted off her aching knees, and slipped into the study.

…………………

_My dear old friend, too long have I earnestly intended renewing our much missed exchanges of epistolary communications. Too many months have expired, and not one of my thoughts has actually been without regret on that regrettable circumstance!_

_Don't you think it ought to please your aunt if Nellie would attend a Midsummer party event? Also perhaps Cousin Lily could attend? _

_Especially cold for Edna's roses in June. Not a tender shoot in sight, most disappointing, Edna very sad. Please write soon, if possible, tell Mr Hertford about little party or event, very much excited about Everything._

Ida replaced the letter on the highly polished surface of the walnut writing desk. It was dated but three days previously, but the paper had a worn out look as if it had been handled many many times. Indeed, she had found it sitting at the very top of one of the piles of books and papers which littered the desk itself and a smaller table to one side.

The handwriting sloped backwards, but the letters were inconsistently proportioned and the loops which linked them were very clumsy. The signature was so flowery that Ida could not even work out what the first letter of the name was. And the words themselves barely made sense…. She paused. Something in the ludicrous verbiosity of the letter's style reminded her of another similarly nonsensical document…

Ida listened out, but could hear no approaching footsteps. Swiftly she drew out the chair and sat herself down at the desk. Taking the fountain pen which lay on the desk also, she wrote on the back of an envelope as quickly as she could…

_M…o… t.. h.. e… r… m… e… e….. T… m… e…_

Mother, meet me! Not a word to Pa! You name place in Times, with love E

The letter was written in the same crude code as the advertisement that had been place in the Times, and was clearly the original message that the advertisement was replying to.

Ida lent back in the desk chair, her mind working furiously. The message in the Times had spoken of a meeting in Lyre's Café at noon the next day. It was imperative that she had a good vantage point from which to observe Mrs Hertford meeting with her daughter. But she didn't even know where the wretched café was located.

However, she could think of someone who was likely to be familiar with it…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews everyone and sorry that I'm so slow at updating…

* * *

'Yes, I've been to Lyre's Café a couple of times, they do very good Chelsea buns you know…' said Clarence, twiddling a pencil between his fingers and staring at a blank sheet of paper. 

'Mmm,' said Ida, trying to sound interested, 'so, near Soho square you say?'

'Yes, I think so…Never had you down as much of a Chelsea bun fan, Ida…'

'_Clarence_!'

'_Scherzo_, as the Italians say, _scherzo_, I know that it's got something to do with your latest case…A big one, is it?'

'Could be.'

'Well, good luck.'

He turned back to the paper and made a faint mark, before springing back as though burned and making a tutting noise under his breath.

Ida paused in surprise, she had expected him to want to come to the café too, and had in fact been going over a speech in her head where she would re iterate how _she_ was the private detective and had no need for a right hand man.

'You still here, Ida?' asked Clarence,

'I'm just going,' she said, sharply

'I don't suppose you could get me a piece of charcoal from over…'

'…Sorry Clarence, time is of the essence.'

……………….

Still feeling a sense of annoyance she didn't quite understand, which just made her all the more annoyed, Ida sat in Lyre's Café and sipped a no doubt over-priced cup of tea. It was five minutes to twelve. Her day had started at 5 AM, when the scullery maid had woken her with a vicious pinch. Ida had laid the fires, with minimal assistance from said scullery maid, and then made a cup of tea with which to go and wake the housekeeper. That charming woman had berated her for a single speck of soot on her apron before informing her that she intended to speak to Mrs Hertford about the disgracefully unconventional way in which Ida had been appointed, and get her dismissed before the day was out. So Ida had not felt particularly bad about walking out of the Hertford house at 10 that morning - after a couple of hours of fruitless snooping in the library and parlour whilst dusting – without a word to anyone.

Ida surveyed her fellow café customers. A young couple chaperoned by a late middle aged woman who was knitting a prodigiously long scarf sat by the window and stole nervous glances at each other; an elderly man enjoyed a Chelsea bun studded with great lumps of sugar at a table to her left; a tall gaunt woman dressed in severe black mourning clothes took little sips of a glass of water at a table by the door, and, yes… at the table in the corner sat Mrs Hertford.

She was wearing an elegant little black hat with a heavy veil that obscured about two thirds of her face, but Ida had taken care to note the clothes she had been wearing at home that morning, and it was definitely her. She found herself wondering briefly where Mrs Hertford had purchased that hat, it really did strike just the right note of sophistication, plus the veil could really come in handy…

….with a jangling bell the café door swung open, and in scurried a figure that had to be female, it was so petite, but which was so swathed in a voluminous fur coat and a red silk scarf that it was hard to tell. Ida glimpsed a hint of very black hair under the shapeless green velvet hat that topped off the whole ensemble as the newcomer hurried past, paused instantaneously, then dashed over to the table in the corner. Even from where she sat – some distance away – Ida could detect the desperate gladness in Mrs Hertford's face and manner as she leant across the table to speak softly to what could only be her daughter.

Ida put down her teacup and strained to hear their conversation. She was fairly certain of a whispered

'Darling!'

but could make nothing of whatever reply Emily made. Mrs Hertford then said something like

'but….…._stand…_'

'No!' exclaimed Emily, almost at normal speaking volume, before some very urgent whispering, then Mrs Hertford made some sort of concillatory noises that sounded like

'..._course_…._love_…_both_….'

Ida saw Emily pull off one of her long gloves, and give her left hand to her mother across the table. Mrs Hertford took it, kissed it, and let it go, dabbing at her eyes with her hankerchief. As Emily pulled the glove back on, Ida was sure she caught a glimpse of something sparkling…

As quickly as she had come, Emily was suddenly on her feet again, and making for the door. Ida stood up, her chair scraping on the wooden floor…

'Leaving, madam?'

It was the waiter.

'Er, yes…' Ida stuttered, picking up her bag

'That will be sixpence…'

'_Sixpence_!'

'Madam,'

'Alright, alright,' she fumbled in her purse, asking 'Do you know Clarence Fortescue?'

'The young art student fellow? He comes in here sometimes…'

'…could you put that on his tab?'

'On his…_tab_…?' repeated the waiter, in astonished horror.

Emily Hertford was already outside and turning left into the street outside.

Ida eventually dug out a shilling.

'I'll be back for the change!' she said firmly, handing it over, and running for the door. Before the waiter could respond she was shoving at the handle. The door swung out far more easily than she had anticipated, and she stumbled onto the pavement, smack-bang into a man hurrying past.

'Oh!'

'_Miss_! Have a care, please…'

She could never mistake that voice

'Mr Holmes?'

His eyes, when they met hers, were filled with emotions she hadn't seen there before: anger yes, but mixed with fear,

'Not…now…Miss Greene,' he said, enunciating each word with deliberate calm, 'I am in somewhat of a hurry,'

He pushed past her, eyes scanning the crowds in Soho Square

'Are you looking for Emily Hertford?' Ida asked, helpfully, but Holmes didn't seem to hear,

'Damn, damn, damn and blast it!' he exclaimed, stepping away from her.

Ida followed his gaze, and saw Emily Hertford, still dressed in her enormous coat, being helped into a hansom cab by a thin man whose age was hard to determine since his face hidden in shadow. He clambered up inside too, and slammed the door.

Holmes took another few steps forward, then, as the cab moved off, he broke into a run, elbowing his way through the crowd. Ida hesitated an instant, then hitched up her skirt slightly and sprinted after. She felt her new hat slipping off, tried to clutch at it, but too late. There was no time to pick it up - she had to keep Holmes in sight. She hadn't liked it _that_ much in any case.


	5. Chapter 5

Ida's chest burned and her breathing came in ragged gasps. She was aware that her hair was now coming loose from its various pins and that her face must be glowing scarlet, but a fierce stubbornness kept her placing one foot after the other, chasing after Holmes. She was not going to let him take all the credit for locating Emily Hertford – he had even told Mr Hertford that he wasn't going to try, he had no _right_ to do this…

Holmes stopped short suddenly, and she nearly cannoned into the back of him.

'Hey!' he shouted, 'hey!'

but not at her. He was summoning a nearby hansom cab with a wave and a shout. Ida looked round, panting, to see where Emily's cab had paused behind some other traffic a little further up the road. She hoped that the commotion caused by their running hadn't alerted its occupants to her and Holmes' chase.

Holmes was now climbing into his cab

'A guinea if you keep that cab in sight,' he instructed the driver, 'but not too close, mind…'

'Wait for me!' Ida managed to gasp out, stumbling towards the cab and clutching at the shaft which harnessed the horse.

'Miss Greene,' began Holmes,

'We haven't got time to argue,' pointed out Ida.

A brief second passed in a glaring contest, with Ida resolutely hanging onto the shaft, daring him to forcibly remove her. The driver observed the scene with an expression of bemused amusement. Eventually, Holmes leant forward. Ida tensed…

'May I, Miss Greene?' he asked with withering sarcasm, offering her his hand to help her on board.

…….

Seated inside the cab, Holmes was a study in taut deliberation, his gaze fixed on the street ahead and his cheeks sucked in slightly. He did not seem in the most talkative of moods, and Ida was still fairly out of breath, so she concentrated on trying to still her madly thumping pulse. After some minutes had passed in this way, the cab rattling its way along the street all the time, Holmes suddenly leant forward, elbows on his knees, saying

'How do you know Daniel Trelawney?'

Taken aback by the question, Ida opened and shut her mouth stupidly

'You don't know Daniel Trelawney,' Holmes answered his own question, in a matter of fact tone, and leant back once more.

Annoyed, Ida almost contradicted him just for the hell of it, but bit back her words. So. Daniel Trelawney. Was that the identity of Emily Hertford's male companion and - if what she had seen in the café was to be believed - fiancé?

She searched the street ahead for the cab they were following, and realised that she had neglected to memorise anything in particular about it, so had no idea which of the three she could see it might be. She hoped that Holmes and the cabbie had been a little more observant.

'They're turning into that street, guv, you want me to follow them?' asked the driver, and Ida saw that one of the hansom cabs had indeed just turned into a small residential side street.

'No,' said Holmes, slowly, 'no, this will be fine…'

'What?' exclaimed Ida, 'no, let's follow them!'

'That street is a cul de sac, and a narrow one at that,' Holmes explained, 'hardly the most discreet mode of entry to barge in behind in another hansom cab…'

He did not wait for Ida to reply, but instead turned his attention to the cab driver,

'A guinea, as promised.'

'Thanks!'

…….

In a matter of seconds they were poised by a pillar box near the entrance to the cul de sac, peering round the corner

'Don't stare so!' hissed Holmes, 'we can't both look in the same direction…'

Biting her tongue, Ida did as he said, and directed her gaze instead at the post box, reaching into her bag and pulling out her fake reference papers to keep up the charade.

'What's happening?' she murmured

'He's helping her out of the cab,'

Ida shifted restlessly.

'They're going into one of the houses.'

'Remember which one!' blurted out Ida,

'I can assure you, Miss Greene,' said Holmes, wearily, 'that I will be able to recall which one.'

He turned away from the scene

'Can I look now?' she whispered

'If you must,' said Holmes, 'but there's nothing to see.'

Ida looked into the quiet street of terraced houses, then turned back to Holmes questioningly. She was surprised to see his shoulders bowed in what almost seemed a gesture of defeat.

'Mr Holmes…' she began, uncertain what exactly to say,

He pinned her with his eyes once more and the words dried in her mouth

'I think we need to have a little talk, Miss Greene,' he said


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: here you go guys, sorry for the delay again...

* * *

Holmes took a deep breath in through his nose then exhaled slowly, as he sat down on a wooden bench in a small square a few streets away from where they had left the hansom cab.

'Where to begin?' he asked

'…Mr Hertford agreed…' Ida started, defensively

'Rhetorical, Miss Greene, that was _rhetorical_…' he snapped, and she clenched her teeth silently and stared at her knees, feeling her cheeks redden.

'Miss Greene,' said Holmes at last, 'I have thought long and hard about this, and I cannot for the life of me figure out why it is that you seem to have made it your business to…to dog my footsteps, to impede whatever it is I may be doing…'

'Now just a minute!'

'I must admit that your mental processes, indeed, those of all your sex, are somewhat incomprehensible to me, but it seems almost as though you are in the grip of some sort of infatuation, and…'

'Infatuation…?' repeated Ida in disbelief,

'Forgive me if my directness is somewhat uncomfortable, Miss Greene, but…'

Realisation started to dawn, and Ida found her shoulders starting to shake slightly with repressed laughter,

'Miss Greene…Miss Greene, please don't distress yourself, but…'

Holmes' discomfort was palpable,

'…I…can I lend you a handkerchief…?'

This was too much, Ida let out a great peal of laughter. She turned to look at Holmes, whose face was now a picture of mortification.

'Sorry,' she said, 'I don't mean to be rude, but…'

'…I think,' he said, in a voice of unnatural calm, 'that maybe we should pay a visit to my friend Watson, you remember Watson don't you, he's a good fellow…'

'…I'm not mad, Mr Holmes,' said Ida, finally getting her laughter under control. He looked at her rather doubtfully, and she fixed him with her most serious expression.' Please believe me that I do _not_, I absolutely, categorically do _not_ have any sort of _infatuation_ with you… What I do have is a firm intention to find out why Miss Emily Hertford ran away from her home. And I have been employed by Mr Hertford, in my capacity as a private investigator, to do so.'

'In your capacity… as a _private investigator_?' repeated Holmes incredulously,

'That's what I said.'

Now it was Holmes' turn to suppress laughter.

'I might as well ask,' said Ida, throwing all caution to the winds, 'what _you_ are doing impeding _my_ investigation?'

There was a moment's silence, in which Ida regretted the rashness of her words, then Holmes said softly,

'Your spirit does you credit, Miss Greene.'

Ida opened her mouth to reply, but he had not finished,

'But without rationality, sensitivity and subtlety, spirit will only get you so far.'

The forceful criticism of his words slid like silent daggers from underneath the crisp calmness of his tone and left Ida momentarily speechless.

'This matter in which you have, inexplicably, decided to involve yourself is one of great personal interest to me. I do believe that once before I told you to cease meddling. That time you paid me no heed. This time it is infinitely more important that you _do as I say_.'

'Mr Holmes,' Ida found her tongue once more, 'I did not embark upon this with any intention of treading on your toes. I was alerted to this affair by the advertisement that Mrs Hertford placed in the Times to communicate with her daughter, and…'

'…excuse me? What advertisement?'

Ida crowed inwardly, but merely raised an eyebrow as she turned back to Holmes, saying,

'Why, the advertisement for a maid which Mrs Hertford placed in yesterday's Times. It was in code.'

'Do you have a copy of it?'

'Mr Holmes,' said Ida, 'I would be delighted to share what information I have with you, but I fear that it might be construed as meddling…'

'There is no time for this nonsense, Miss Greene…'

'I'll tell you everything, Mr Holmes, if you first tell me why it is that you refused to help Mr Hertford, and yet are now investigating his daughter's disappearance in secret.'

'I…'

'…oh,' said Ida, remembering something, 'and who is Daniel Trelawney?'

'Miss Greene, there really is nothing you can usefully contribute to this case other than telling me what it is that you know and then…'

'…oh no! You aren't going to get rid of me until I know what's what. If it is so important that I don't _meddle_, perhaps your story will convince me.'

'I am not in the habit of bargaining over information, Miss Greene…'

'That's a shame.'

They glared at each other in impasse. Then Ida dredged up a name from the conversation she had heard between Holmes and Mr Hertford yesterday, and played her final card.

'Who is Morris?'

An ace.

Holmes' whole face stiffened, and he closed his eyes for at least three seconds. Ida held her breath.

'Morris Hertford,' began Holmes, in a voice with a strange edge to it that Ida had not heard before, 'was a friend. My…my best friend, in fact, when I was at university.'

_Morris Hertford_, thought Ida to herself, _I see_…

As if reading her thoughts, Holmes continued

'As you have probably guessed, he was the son of Mr and Mrs Edward Hertford, whose daughter Emily is now…missing.'

Holmes swallowed slowly, and seemed to hesitate.

'You said 'was'…' Ida prompted, gently, 'do you mean he…'

'He's dead,' Holmes finished for her, 'he died some fifteen years ago, when his sister was a mere child.'

'I'm sorry,' said Ida, 'Um…how…?'

'He was murdered.'


	7. Chapter 7

A/N - thanks for the reviews guys, I'm glad you're enjoying the story! I'll be posting the new chapter of 'Distractions' as soon as I can, and before I post the next chapter of this one... (end of term now, so should have more time!)

* * *

It was a sombre Ida who returned to the Hertford residence at Victoria Crescent that afternoon. She slipped in the back door, glared the scullery maid into shocked silence and hurried up the servant's staircase. A moment's hesitation at the top, then she remembered the way, and hurried into Mrs Hertford's bedroom. 

Once inside, she couldn't afford to let herself relax for even a brief second. She probably had only a matter of minutes before the housekeeper was alerted and all hell broke loose. She didn't even know if Mr Hertford – her one potential defence – was at home at this hour.

Holmes' earlier revelations were still a seething mass of unsettled thoughts buzzing in her head. Morris Hertford, his fiancé Edwina Trelawney and Holmes himself had – fifteen years ago - been caught up in some affair to do with Edwina Trelawney's Great Aunt's will. And Edwina's cousin, _Daniel Trelawney_ – the man who now apparently had Emily Hertford in his power -had also had some part to play. But Holmes had held back almost all of the details, and all Ida could do was wildly speculate. Why had this Daniel Trelawney reappeared now, after 15 years? Where was this Edwina who had apparently been so very much in love with Morris, what had become of her after his death? And who…who had killed Morris, if Holmes was to be believed?

It was no good. Without more facts, she was powerless. And it was time for her to fulfil her side of the bargain. Holmes had requested that she retrieve the earlier coded letter which Mrs Hertford had received from her daughter, so that meant a raid on Mrs Hertford's study…

…As Ida moved towards the inner door, her hand outstretched towards the handle, her eye was caught by an oval frame on Mrs Hertford's dressing table. For some indefinable reason she felt drawn to go over and take a closer look.

The frame housed a simple line drawing in pen and ink of a young man, surely not more than 20 years old, whose laughing face had been captured with an almost unbearable delicacy of touch. Ida lent in, closer, to read the small inscription at the base of the frame…

'What are you doing?' came a hoarse voice from behind.

Ida spun round, guiltily, to see Mrs Hertford standing in the doorway of her bedroom, still clad in her outdoor coat. She had removed the veiled hat, however, and even from the other side of the room Ida was aware of her swollen, red rimmed eyes.

'Um…dusting…?' said Ida, instantly realising that her lack of apron, cap and in fact any housemaid paraphernalia might be a bit of a giveaway.

'Agnes dusts in here,' said Mrs Hertford, in a kind of bewildered daze

'Um, she's…not well today,' improvised Ida, 'I'm new, ma'am, I didn't mean any disrespect, ma'am….' _Damn and blast it! _Ida suddenly realised she had been keeping up eye contact with Mrs Hertford. No wonder the poor woman was even more confused, the very _idea_ of a servant making this much eye contact…

'It doesn't matter…' said Mrs Hertford, her voice trailing away into a kind of gulping sob.

_Hang propriety_ Ida suddenly thought to herself, _this woman is going through enough_. In a moment, she was beside Mrs Hertford, helping her to sit down in the chair at the dressing table.

'There there, ma'am, let it all out…' she found herself saying, wondering at the inanities she was capable of uttering in these situations, 'whatever it is, it can't be as bad as all that…'

…..

Mrs Hertford wept for a good five minutes. After her sobs had subsided to a mere whimper, she gave a shuddering sigh and then seemed calm again.

'Thank you, girl,' she said quietly, releasing Ida's hand.

The 'girl' rankled slightly, but Ida still hated herself for what she did next. Exploiting Mrs Hertford's fragile emotional state really _was_ low…

'That's a lovely picture, ma'am…' Ida began, conversationally, indicating the young man in the oval frame, 'did you draw it yourself?'

Surprisingly, the fresh burst of sobbing which Ida had expected did not come. Mrs Hertford looked up at her from the chair, glowing with a kind of inner strength.

'No,' she said, 'an artist friend of mine drew it. It is a very good likeness… Of my son.'

That much Ida had seen from the inscription.

'I'm sure you're very proud of him,' said Ida, feeling as though she was adding straws to an already teetering pile that threatened to fall at any moment, 'what does he do?'

Mrs Hertford sniffed.

'He…would… have been a doctor.'

'Oh…ma'am…I'm so sorry, I didn't realise…'

'I haven't seen him for fifteen years.'

Warning bells were starting to ring in Ida's head.

'I don't understand, ma'am, is he…'

Mrs Hertford was staring at her strangely. Ida waited for the death blow, the sudden accusation of prying, the inevitable throwing out of the house…but it never came

'Can you keep a secret, girl?'

_Unless revealing it is for the greater good…_ Ida added the desperate mental caveat, but she still knew herself to be basically lying and despised herself as she said -

'Of course.'

'Fetch me the green leather writing case that is locked in the third drawer of my desk,' ordered Mrs Hertford, proffering a small key on a piece of blue ribbon.

…..

Her heart hammering with the anticipation of a new development, Ida placed the writing case in Mrs Hertford's hands. She started to undo the three sets of knotted ribbons which held it shut.

'I haven't shown this to anyone', Mrs Hertford confessed, 'but…' here she sniffed, 'I just need someone else's opinion…'

She looked Ida with a sudden intensity

'You _won't_ tell anyone, will you?'

'No,' said Ida, hoping her face would not betray her

Mrs Hertford opened the writing case, and withdrew a faded, yellow piece of paper

'This is a letter my son wrote to me, when he was at Oxford,' she said, handing it to Ida. 'Can you read?'

'Er…yes…a little…' said Ida, trying to hedge her bets

'Well, take note of the handwriting.'

Ida looked at the page. It was covered in a fairly standard copperplate hand, detailing something about a particularly sumptuous dinner and…yes, she caught sight of the name Holmes in there, and a mention of punting…

'Now,' said Mrs Hertford, 'please examine this'

Another page was handed to her. This one was much fresher looking, the ink a much clearer black and the page whiter. The handwriting was certainly a lot like that of the letter… Holding it up so as to catch more light, Ida read

'Mother, forgive my long, painful and unexplained absence. Trust that I am alive, whatever you might have thought or been led to believe by others. Tell no one of this yet, please have faith in Trelawney, he's a good fellow. It is only through his help that I get this message to you. Do not try to contact me, do not tell father, have faith that I will be with you all soon. Your ever loving son, Morris '

At the top of the page was a message in a different hand, dated several months previously

'Dear Mrs Hertford, I trust the below is of some comfort, and hope that you will be able to wait a little longer, with trusting patience, before being re united with your son. May I re iterate the importance of secrecy for the time being.

Your obedient servant, Daniel Trelawney'

'Mrs Hertford,' said Ida, slowly, 'this is…well…I don't really understand, but…'

'The content of the letter is of absolutely no concern to you,' said Mrs Hertford, 'and servant girls who make slanderous allegations are on a sure road to the workhouse…'

'…forgive me, ma'am….'

'I merely require your opinion of the hands. _Are they the same hand_?'

Privately, Ida was almost certain the note from Morris had to be a forgery. But how to break this news to Mrs Hertford in a way that she would accept, without revealing all that she already knew?

'I…I couldn't say, ma'am…'

Mrs Hertford groaned, and Ida quickly continued, a wild idea taking root in her mind

'But, ma'am…I know someone who could tell you for sure…'

'I cannot show this letter to anyone else!' Mrs Hertford almost shrieked, 'I shouldn't even have shown it to you….'

'No…but…what if you just took a couple of lines…some key words…you could cut out a bit of the letter… Paste them onto another sheet. So as no one would know…'

'Cut it? Paste it? What nonsense are you blathering about?'

'My mother's second cousin has a son who is a handwriting expert,' said Ida, in one last brazen stab, 'and I could get you an appointment. This afternoon, probably, if you wanted…'

'A…handwriting…expert?' Mrs Hertford looked at Ida in astonishment.

'Yes,' said Ida, 'a…._graphologist_...'

…..

'Clarence, there simply isn't _time_ for you to _argue_!' hissed Ida, snatching up papers and paintbrushes from his table and piling them roughly into a cupboard

'Hey there, mind out!' he exclaimed, reaching out a hand to stop her

'All you need to do,' said Ida, unheeding as she slammed the cupboard door 'is pretend to be a handwriting expert, and say that the two hands are clearly different, that the one is a forgery of the other. Got that?'

'No!'

'It's really very _simple_, Clarence…'

'Ida, I…'

Ida seized the last of the sketchbooks that still sat on the desk, and a page fluttered out. Clarence made a grab for it but found himself snatching at empty air.

Ida opened the folded page.

'Clarence…?' she looked at him questioningly. His eyes met hers and his cheeks flushed red

'It's…' he began, but a sudden rapping at the door cut his words short

'_She's here_!' Ida shoved Clarence towards the desk, 'Sit down!'

'But shouldn't I answer it…?'

'I will.'

'But she knows you…!'

'Not…' said Ida, reaching into her bag and drawing out a smaller, cloth wrapped package, '…that…' she continued, pulling out a large pair of round rimmed glasses and balancing them on her nose, '…well.' A floppy grey wig, made into the style of a loose bun was the last to emerge, and she pulled it over her own hair, positioning it with the aid of the large mirror above Clarence's fireplace. It itched like hell.

_Damn you, Holmes…_ thought Ida to herself, as she affected a shuffling, hobbled gait and made to open the door.

……

'_Good_ afternoon, madam,' quavered Ida, as she opened the door on a flustered looking Mrs Hertford, '_So_ sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr Fortescue can see you now…'

'It's, uh, _Professor_ Fortescue, actually,' came an over-nonchalant voice from the back of the room.

'Why, yes, of course it is,' said Ida, with a forced smile, 'why, I'll forget my own head next, I will indeed…'

'Don't worry, I…solde…' he said, 'it happens to the best of us…'

Isolde?_ Isolde!_? Ida fumed inwardly as she guided Mrs Hertford towards the desk, and looked daggers at Clarence.

'Mrs…' Ida paused,

'…Hertford,' supplied Mrs Hertford,

'Mrs Hertford, _Professor_,' announced Ida, 'you remember, that young lady relation of yours made an appointment for her to see you…?'

'Why yes!' said Clarence, beaming, 'for it really happened, and I always remember things which really happened…'

Mrs Hertford stared at him in bemusement. Ida glared at Clarence with even more venom, and he spoke again

'So, tell me, what can I, a humble… handwriting…expert…do for you, madam?'


	8. Chapter 8

Here it is, and huge apologies for the very long delay. I hope to post the last couple of chapters of this one soon.

* * *

There was something in the angle of his spine and in the determined concentration with which Clarence examined the two documents that almost convinced even Ida he was a distinguished graphologist. She noted the anxious yet trusting expression on Mrs Hertford's face, and inwardly forgave Clarence the earlier acting fiasco. Either he was genuinely enthralled by the two pieces of paper, or he was giving the performance of his life.

Eventually, Clarence raised his head from the desk, and spoke

'Mrs Hertford…'

'Yes?'

'It is my …_professional…_ opinion that these pasted words you have presented me with here… ' he held up the document that Mrs Hertford had, following Ida's suggestion, made up out of lines cut from the note supposedly from her son, 'are _not_ of the same hand as this letter, indeed, the similarities that _are_ present would suggest to my mind an attempt to…'

With a sound that was half sigh, half groan, Mrs Hertford slipped down in the chair she had been seated in.

'Oh,' said Clarence, uselessly, 'er… Mrs Hertford?...er…Ida?'

Ida hurried over to the chair,

'She's fainted,' she announced, redundantly, 'fetch some water!'

'Er, right,' said Clarence, 'um, I've got the water I use for cleaning my paintbrushes…'

'Fetch some _fresh_ water…'

A familiar voice cut across their conversation

'Might I be of assistance?'

Ida turned round, gaping, to see Holmes standing in the doorway

'Mr Holmes! I… what are you _doing_ here?'

'Having received no fresh evidence from you, I was forced to trail Mrs Hertford here from her residence…'

'…look, I was going to come straight to you after this…'

'…I have no doubt, Miss Greene, but now shall we attend to the lady herself?'

'Oh, yes…'

'I would suggest transferring her to that couch over there.'

'Right…Er, Clarence?'

Clarence had been observing the proceedings with his mouth hanging open, but now he seemed to wake up,

'It's _Professor Fortescue_,' he hissed in a stage whisper,

'Ah, Clarence Fortescue is it?' said Holmes, 'fossil faker extraordinaire. We've met before, haven't we?'

'Uh…'

'It's alright, Clarence,' said Ida, 'I think our cover's well and truly broken.'

'Er, yes,' agreed Clarence, reddening, 'Delighted, Mr Holmes,'

'Well, Mr Fortescue, do you think you could give me a hand lifting Mrs Hertford over to that couch?'

Clarence didn't look too pleased at the prospect, but he took her ankles none the less, and Mrs Hertford was hefted like a particularly unwieldy sack of potatoes over to the faded chintz sofa.

Ida came over and tried to make her as comfortable as possible, whilst Holmes stood back, saying

'We'll let her recover in her own good time. She's got enough of a shock coming after all.'

He walked over to the window and gazed out, with his back to Ida and Clarence

'And now,' he said, 'you are going to tell me what on earth you have been doing here.'

'Well,' Ida began, 'Mrs Hertford had a letter that she _thought_ was from her son Morris, from only a few months ago…' it might have been Ida's imagination, but she thought she saw Holmes twitch slightly at the mention of the name…'but I thought it had to be a fake, so I got Clarence to pretend to be a graphologist…'

'…a handwriting expert,' interjected Clarence helpfully

'…I know what the word means,' Holmes snapped, 'go on, Miss Greene,'

'Well, that's pretty much it, Clarence said that he thought the letter was a forgery and then she fainted…'

'Where is this letter?'

'On the desk…'

Holmes spun on his heel and stalked over to the desk. Rather than sit down, he bent right over to inspect the documents, but his head snapped up after a second

'What is _this_?'

'Oh…yes… I sort of suggested to Mrs Hertford that she should cut up the letter so that…'

'_Cut up the letter_? Miss Greene, have you no _concept_ of the value of a piece of evidence like this?'

'I can tell you what it said…'

'Can you? Can you tell me what the _paper_ would have said? Can you tell me what the very _smell_ of it would have told me, what I could have gathered from the crease of the fold, from the spattering of the ink or the merest tear in the corner?'

'Um…'

'Well?'

Ida felt the hot embarrassment in her cheeks quickly turning to anger

'Well, it would probably have _smelled_ of Mrs Hertford's perfume with a hint of leather from the writing case in which it has been kept for months, only being got out to look at in secret by a mother desperate to believe that her son is still alive – any mark or tear you may have found would probably have been down to _her_ touching of it, and you hardly need an intellect as mighty as your own to understand what might have motivated _that_.'

Her heart racing, Ida tried to maintain eye contact with the detective, daring him to criticise her outburst.

'Well, Miss Greene,' he eventually said, in tones of carefully measured evenness, 'perhaps you would care to tell me, concisely, what the letter told _you_.'

'That this Daniel Trelawney forged a letter to Mrs Hertford implying that her son is still alive and that he is in contact with him, but that there is a need for secrecy and no one else must know. I would extrapolate from this that Mr Trelawney wishes, for reasons as yet unknown, to maintain a hold over Mrs Hertford, and that he does so with total disregard for her feelings. I would speculate that…'

'…quite so, Miss Greene,' Holmes interrupted,

'Don't you want to hear what Ida speculates?' asked Clarence, 'I do…'

Holmes held up a finger for silence, and indicated the couch. Ida turned round to see that Mrs Hertford had started to stir.

'Mrs Hertford,' Ida began, going over to her side, 'are you alright?'

The older woman struggled to try and sit up a little, and Ida helped to prop her against a cushion,

'Who…exactly, are you?' she asked, her voice faint at first but getting an edge of anger, 'you're that _maid_ and yet… Is this all some kind of trick?'

'I think I owe you an apology,' said Ida, 'but please understand that I was only trying to help…'

But Mrs Hertford didn't seem to be listening, she continued -

'…if this is a joke then it is in unbelievably poor taste, my husband shall hear of this and…'

'Mrs Hertford,' Holmes spoke at last, 'I apologise for…'

'…who the hell are you!' exclaimed Mrs Hertford in fright,

'Please, madam, you are quite safe…'

'….that's not what I asked!'

'My name is Holmes…'

'Holmes…' Mrs Hertford's mouth framed the word, and then recognition dawned in her eyes,

'Sherlock! From Christchurch!'

Holmes swallowed, looking uncomfortable,

'Yes. I knew your son Morris when we both at Oxford together…'

'…so…so… do you know… is Morris…?'

'Mrs Hertford, the last thing in the world I want is to cause you further pain, but I can assure you that your son died fifteen years ago…'

Mrs Hertford closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose, clearly trying to stay as composed as possible. Holmes too, seemed to be trying to control his face as he finished, simply,

'…I was there.'

There was a moment of stillness, when Ida didn't quite know where to look.

'So,' said Mrs Hertford at last, 'that letter I received…'

'Was a forgery, madam.'

'…and that…man…who sent it t me…' Mrs Hertford's eyes grew wide suddenly, 'Oh, Emily! Emily's with him now, that…that wretch, that monster, that…'

'Mrs Hertford, the well being of your daughter is all of our priority,' said Holmes, 'in fact, that was what Miss Greene here,' he indicated Ida, 'was seeking to uphold…'

Mrs Hertford looked back at Ida in bewilderment, as if she had forgotten her presence,

'I'm a private detective,' said Ida, 'I'm sorry for any deceit, but…' she tailed off, as Mrs Hertford squeezed her eyes tight shut

'I don't care about the details,' she said, 'I've lost my son, again. And now, my daughter…' her voice caught in a sob

'Madam,' said Holmes gently, 'we really need you to tell us the whole story of your dealings with Daniel Trelawney. This could be absolutely imperative to your daughter's safety.'

'I…I…can't think…' she sniffed,

'_Please_,' said Holmes, with almost corrosive intensity, 'we might not have a lot of time…'

'…you mean…he might…what? What might he do to her?'

'Mrs Hertford, I _need_ for you to think back…'

………………..

Ida listened as Mrs Hertford told, somewhat tearfully, her story. The letter, supposedly from her son, had arrived some months back, followed soon by another letter from Daniel Trelawney, requesting that she and her daughter Emily should come to a particular spot in St James' park, so that Morris could, again supposedly, see them from a distance. The need for all the secrecy (even Emily was not to be told) was never explained, but the merest hint that her son might not be dead was sufficient to make Mrs Hertford carry out whatever request was made. In any case, that day in the park, and at several other locations dictated in subsequent letters, Emily had met a man who later identified himself as none other than Daniel Trelawney. What sort of further courtship might have gone on without her knowledge, Mrs Hertford couldn't say, but in time Emily had fallen completely for this strange man, so many years her senior, and one day she had simply disappeared.

Mrs Hertford had nearly told her husband everything at this point, but then she received the coded letter from her daughter that asked her to place a message in the Times and arrange a meeting. This had taken place in Lyre's Café – as Ida had observed – and Emily had told her that she was now engaged to Daniel Trelawney…

…at this point, Mrs Hertford started sobbing again. Ida patted her arm awkwardly whilst Holmes stared fiercely at the fireplace for a good 30 seconds…

'We must confront him,' he said, suddenly snapping to attention, 'we must confront Daniel Trelawney with this deception and disabuse your daughter of any amicable feelings she may have towards him.'

'You mean…' said Mrs Hertford, 'that you can find him?'

'Miss Greene and I know where.'


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks very much for the kind reviews guys! Here's another chapter, sorry if it's all turning a bit grim and complicated... My other story 'Distractions' might serve to clarify things a little bit... The final chapter of this one's nearly done so watch this space!

* * *

Ida had to practically jog to keep up with the pace Holmes was setting, and she could clearly hear Mrs Hertford panting as she and Clarence followed. Despite having lived in London for some months now, Ida could not have navigated the way from Clarence's digs to the street where she and Holmes had seen Trelawney, but Holmes was ploughing through the back streets with absolute certainty. 

'Hey!' he suddenly shouted. Ida stopped, confused, then saw a scruffy looking boy of about nine on the other side of the road

'There's a guinea in it if you can get inspector Lestrade down to number seven, Beaumont Terrace inside an hour!'

The boy hurried away.

'Perkins,' said Holmes to Ida, as if that was an explanation.

'Inspector Lestrade?' asked Mrs Hertford, tremulously,

'A precaution only, madam,' said Holmes, but his reassuring smile did not reach his eyes.

……

Within five minutes they had arrived at the cul de sac where Holmes and Ida had observed Daniel Trelawney and Emily leaving their cab.

'Follow my lead,' said Holmes to Ida, quietly, 'and try not to let Mrs Hertford get too upset…'

'…I don't see why that should be my job…'

'…Miss Greene, for once, _please_ do as I say…'

'…it would be easier if you would tell me everything that's really going on…'

'What are you two whispering about?' Clarence broke in. Holmes looked at him with obvious annoyance,

'If you must accompany us, Mr Fortescue, please keep your mouth shut…'

'…Are we,' said Mrs Hertford angrily, 'or are we not here to find my daughter?'

'Quite so, madam,' Holmes said, contritely. 'I'll knock…'

The door was opened by a maid who couldn't have been older than fourteen. Ida gave her an apologetic look as Holmes swept past without a word, followed by the other three

'Mr Trelawney, sir,' she squawked in confusion, 'there's someone …'

'What is it, Amelia?' called a voice from behind a closed door. Mrs Hertford shoved past Holmes and wrenched it open, crying

'Where is my daughter?'

Ida hurried into the room behind her. A thin, grey haired man was sitting in a high backed armchair by the fireplace, holding a brandy glass. If he was surprised at the sudden invasion, he certainly knew how to hide it. So, this was Daniel Trelawney.

He leant back in his armchair nonchalantly, took a sip of his brandy, and observed Mrs Hertford's distress with undisguised pleasure.

'What have you done, you monster?'

'Won't you sit down, Mrs Hertford?'

'_Where is she_?'

'Are you sure you won't sit down? There are some things I need to explain. And I'm sure your…friends… would like to hear.'

'Perhaps,' said Ida, 'we ought to hear what he has to say…'

'Ah! Someone with some sense, eh? Come now, let's be civilised…'

Ida went to stand by Mrs Hertford, and guided her into an empty armchair which sat by the other side of the fire. Holmes and Clarence stayed by the door.

Since Mrs Hertford was still quite distressed, and Holmes had for some reason not spoken yet, Ida felt obliged to break the silence. Praying that her question wouldn't make matters worse, she decided to cut to the chase

'Mr Trelawney,' she began, 'why did you write a letter to Mrs Hertford pretending that her son was still alive?'

'Ah,' he said, 'why? Such an enormous concept, really, _why. _Whenever you think you've pinned it down you find there's something hiding behind it. For example, I could tell you it's because I spent the last fifteen years of my life in jail. In a Venetian jail, to be exact, not renowned for its hospitality.'

'That's…um….most unfortunate, but…'

'…Why? You see my point. Well. I was imprisoned for the murder of my cousin…'

Here Ida could see that the hand which held his brandy glass had started to tremble,

'…Edwina Trelawney, the most beautiful, gentlest creature to walk the earth… They thought I killed her.'

'Edwina Trelawney…' interrupted Mrs Hertford, 'but that was the name of Morris' fiancé…'

'_Morris_!' spat Daniel, '_Morris_ wasn't fit to kiss the ground she walked on… but she _thought_ she loved him, yes, and…' his voice tailed off, and then he started speaking in a different tone '….and I promised, didn't I, I made her a promise, and I'm keeping it now…'

All of a sudden, Holmes was standing over Trelawney's armchair, leaning so that his face was merely inches away from the other man's

'…what have you done?'

'…only what Morris did,' said Daniel, dreamily, 'made someone love me, then broke their heart…'

'It wasn't Morris who broke her heart.'

'What do you know...' said Trelawney, then, in quite a different tone, 'what _do_ you know? Who exactly… Holmes?'

'Where is Emily?'

'It _is_ you. Well now, this is quite the reunion… You know, of course. You know I didn't kill Edwina. She killed herself.'

'_Where is Emily_?'

'I would have thought you could work it out.'

Holmes jerked suddenly upright, and when he turned round Ida saw terror in his eyes,

'She's in the house,' he said with desperate certainty, 'I just hope to God that...'

'…of course,' said Trelawney, 'I had to make sure she knew where to lay her hands on some cyanide, for the poetic justice of the thing, you understand…'

But Holmes was already halfway to the door, with Ida hot on his heels.

'…you're too late,' called Trelawney, 'you'll see…'

…………….

In the hallway he paused for the briefest of seconds before making for the stairs, saying simply

'Bedroom,'

Ida followed, trying not to think too hard about what they might find, and for once resisting the urge to ask Holmes to explain what was going on. As they passed various doors, Holmes tried their handles and located a study, an empty box room, a small door that Ida could have told him was a laundry cupboard...until he finally stopped at a white painted door with a round brass handle.

'It's bolted from the inside,' he said

'Emily!' Ida shouted desperately, 'Emily, open the door,'

'Stand back,' Holmes instructed her, as he prepared to aim a kick at the painted oak. There was a splintering sound as the bolt was torn away from the wall, and the door swung back on its hinges.

'Miss Hertford,' Holmes cried, dashing forward…


	10. Chapter 10

Ida stepped into the room to see a young woman sitting on the floor, her face white and tearstreaked, looking at Holmes with startled fear.

'Miss Hertford,' said Holmes, much more gently, 'don't be afraid,'

She shuffled backwards on the floor, away from him,

'Miss Hertford, please give me that…'

Ida saw that she had a small glass bottle in her hand.

'Miss Hertford…' Holmes' voice was desperate. Ida slipped past him

'Emily,' she said, softly, 'it's alright… Whatever he's done, whatever he said, it's alright now. Your mother's on her way…'

'…my…mother?' Emily spoke at last,

'Yes, she's coming, everything's going to be alright now…'

Ida crouched down beside her. Emily twitched slightly but did not move away.

'Everything,' said Ida, still in the same low tone, 'is going to be fine...'

She removed the bottle from Emily's unresisting fingers…

'Emily…'

Mrs Hertford stood in the doorway, trembling

'Oh…my darling girl…'

Ida stood up and moved away as Mrs Hertford entered the room and embraced her daughter.

'Come on,' said Holmes, softly, and they slipped out of the door and shut it behind them.

……………

Standing in the corridor outside the bedroom, Ida heard a sudden commotion downstairs. She hurried to the banister rail to look down.

'Oh no you don't!' Clarence was shouting, as he hung on to Trelawney's arm in an attempt to stop him mounting the staircase. The older man aimed a sharp punch which caught him in the eye. Ida winced in sympathy, and made as if to go and help, but she felt a restraining hand on her shoulder

'Stay back, Miss Greene,' said Holmes

'But…'

'…I can handle Trelawney…'

There was a crash, as of a body hitting the floor,

'Clarence!' cried Ida, in sudden fear, turning back… to see that Clarence was, miraculously, still standing, looking down at Trelawney's prone form in bewilderment.

'He's out cold!' exclaimed Holmes, 'How in the world…?'

Clarence looked up to see Ida leaning over the banister rail, and grinned in a slightly dazed fashion,

'I'd better not have fractured my drawing hand,' he said.

………..

It was five minutes later - after she had helped Clarence to tie the still unconscious Trelawney to a dining room chair, then despatched him to take the bewildered housemaid to stay the night at a friend's house - that Ida noticed that Holmes had disappeared.

She found him standing in the small garden at the front of the house, staring out into what was now a moonless city night.

'So,' she said, 'are you going to tell me the whole story now?'

Holmes started, and turned to her with a faraway expression on his face.

'What happened all those years ago?'

'Do you not have an idea already, Miss Greene?'

Ida paused, and let her thoughts settle for once. She re lived certain key conversations in her head, and an idea began to take shape…

'Morris…' she began, 'Morris was Edwina's fiancé. And Morris died. Daniel Trelawney was in love with Edwina...'

Holmes gave no hint of whether this was leading in the right direction.

'Did…did Trelawney murder Morris Hertford?'

'He did.' Holmes swallowed, then continued quickly 'He also murdered his great aunt, but I couldn't have expected you to work _that_ out...'

'….but he was imprisoned for the murder of his cousin' interrupted Ida.

Holmes said nothing.

'And he said that she…committed suicide…'

Holmes leant heavily on the railing and inhaled deeply from his pipe.

'Is that true?' Ida persisted, 'did she?'

'Ida…sometimes the facts can be an obstacle to justice….'

'…you mean….?'

'Daniel Trelawney committed murder and went to prison.'

'For the _wrong_ crime! Found guilty of killing the woman that he loved, Holmes, for pity's sake!'

'Pity? _Pity_? I have felt a lot of things relating to my actions those years ago, but pity for Daniel Trelawney has not been one of them.' Holmes bit his lip suddenly at this outburst,

'At…' Ida repeated, '_your_ actions all those years ago? What are you saying?'

Holmes made no reply, and for the first time since she had known him he did not meet her eye.

'Did you….did you _frame_ him?' the words were out of her mouth as the very thought occurred to her, and she willed him to deny it, but he didn't.

'You framed him?' she said, bewildered horror creeping into her voice, 'you framed him, how in the world can you call that justice?'

'Miss Greene, you do not know the details…'

'….no, but I know the difference between right and wrong and…and look where this has led! He's practically insane! And I mean, Emily might have…she might have…'

'…I know.' Holmes sighed heavily. 'I know. And I have to live with that.'

'So…' said Ida, slowly, 'he has no idea, does he? Of the _real_ reason why he went to prison…?'

'….he committed murder, he is well aware of that. But no, I see your point, if there was anyone he might justifiably seek revenge on it should be me. '

Ida said nothing.

'Miss Greene…' his voice sounded strangely tighter than usual, 'not a day has gone by when I haven't wished that I could have gone about it differently…'

'…gone about it differently?'

'Proved, incontrovertibly, his guilt, his _real_ guilt of his _actual_ crime, but…'

'…but you're Sherlock Holmes!' cried Ida, almost involuntarily, 'that's what you _do_…'

'It's what I endeavour to do.' he said, barely audibly. 'And I pray that I will never again make a mistake of that magnitude…'

'…so you admit it was a mistake…'

'… it is probably the single biggest regret of my life.'

A large black coach drew into the mouth of the cul de sac

'Lestrade's here,' commented Holmes, emotionlessly.

…..

The policeman gave Ida a curious glance as he arrived at the front gate, but made no comment bar,

'I owe you a favour after the Norwood affair, Holmes, but really, did you _have_ to send that street urchin? I was having a meeting with the chief constable…'

'Come inside,' said Holmes, tersely, and headed back into the house. Ida gave the inspector an apologetic half smile.

……………

When Ida led the two men into the dining room, they found Trelawney seated in the chair still but awake, and incandescent with rage. The scene was made all the more frightening, however, by the fact that he wasn't struggling. The fury was encapsulated in his eyes alone, and in the icy force with which he spoke,

'I am beginning to see a common thread to my misfortunes, _Holmes_…'

'Trelawney,' said Holmes, 'this gentleman is Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard…'

'Scotland Yard! Oh, how very convenient! As you can see, Inspector, these criminals have imprisoned me, in my own home would you believe, and now…'

'…Holmes,' said Lestrade, 'I'm assuming you want me to arrest this fellow, but I'm not a mind reader. What has he done?'

'I have done _nothing_!'

'We'll see about that!' grinned Lestrade, 'come on Holmes, spill the beans…'

'Oh,' said Trelawney, 'he knows. He knows that I have committed no crime here. If the lady happened to…'

'The lady,' said Holmes, through clenched teeth, 'is alive.'

Trelawney's face contorted for an instant, but he quickly regained composure…

'I see,' he said, softly. 'Well. You have even less of a case. I would appreciate it if you would release me….'

'I could get the inspector to arrest you for the murder of Morris Hertford,' said Holmes. Trelawney looked momentarily confused

'Oh!' he said, suddenly, 'you _were_ touchingly convinced of that, weren't you? It's all coming back to me…Well… Perhaps if things had been different then I would have killed him. But trust me, if I had, I would have thought of something a lot more painful…'

Ida looked at Holmes in confusion. His face was white, but whether with rage or shock she could not tell.

'Lestrade,' he said, eventually, 'may I have a word with you outside?'

_Oh, great_ thought Ida to herself, _leave me alone with the madman why don't you?_

'Miss Greene can take care of herself,' said Holmes to the inspector, who had been looking doubtful, and they left the room.

Trelawney looked down the bridge of his nose at Ida, and remarked

'Holmes I remember. And Mrs Hertford…that's understandable. But… you…?'

Ida ignored the question, but posed one of her own.

'Why?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Before, in the drawing room, you were telling us _why_. But you never finished… Why did you want to hurt Emily of all people, she was a mere child when you were sent to prison, she…'

'Morris Hertford took from me the one person on earth that mattered to me. I couldn't exactly repay him in kind, but …'

'…but Morris is dead! The only people that were going to suffer were his family!'

'Morris never loved Edwina. I could see it in his eyes, in his face, in everything about him. But she killed herself for love of him nonetheless. And I promised her, I swore to her that some day, someone would pay for that…'

'…but…'

The door opened suddenly, and Ida stopped mid sentence, unsure of what it was she had been about to say anyway. Lestrade entered the room, accompanied by a uniformed policeman.

'Right,' said the inspector, 'Mr Trelawney, I am taking you into custody…'

'…what!'

'It will go better for you if you do not struggle, sir…'

Ida slipped out into the corridor, where Holmes was sitting on the stairs.

'What did you tell Lestrade?' she asked.

'It doesn't matter.'

'_Yes it does_! Whatever you may think of people, you can't simply have them arrested for things they haven't done, and how are you going to prove…'

'…_I'm_ not going to prove anything.'

'I don't understand.'

'He is a danger to himself and to others. I've asked Lestrade to have a police doctor consider whether he should be institutionalised.'

'Institutionalised…'

'…placed in an establishment for the…'

'_I know what it means_!'

'Miss Greene… I wish this could have turned out differently.'

'So do I.'

Ida walked towards the front door, suddenly finding that she was having to fight back tears.

_Not in front of him_, she willed herself, _not in front of him_…

'Miss Greene…' Holmes called after her, 'I'm sorry if I've…disappointed you.'

She didn't turn round.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

'Another hat? Getting a bit extravagant, aren't we?'

Ida sighed, and took off her latest purchase, without bothering to chastise Clarence for, yet again, neglecting to knock.

'Come on, Ida, cheer up…'

She turned round, to see him looking at her with earnest concern. And a black eye, a souvenir from the fight with Trelawney. Apparently the other art students were very impressed.

'Any new clients?' asked Clarence, sitting down on the edge of her desk, clearly intending to keep the one-sided conversation going.

'Aaah well, it's only been three days…' he answered himself, 'do you fancy taking the afternoon off and…'

'…how could he do it?'

'What?'

'You know what I'm talking about, _how could he do it_?'

'We don't know all the ins and outs of it…'

'…I don't need to.'

'Come on, it's all worked out, hasn't it? That Trelawney chap isn't going to bother anyone again, Miss Hertford's alright…'

'….oh is she?' Ida went and sat on her bed, 'it's all such a frightful mess, Clarence. I thought everything would be simple. Right and wrong. Simple. But nothing's _simple_…'

He came to sit beside her, and took her hand

'Some things can be,' he said.

For the first time in days, Ida found herself smiling.

'You know, Clarence,' she said, 'there is something I've been meaning to ask you about…' she reached over to her coat which was hanging from the back of the bedroom door. 'This…ah…_sketch_, from your studio, I wasn't quite sure…'

There was a knock at the door. Clarence sprang up from the bed and went to stand by the fire place, whilst Ida went to open it.

'Mr Holmes,' she said, flatly, 'what can I do for you?'

'May I come in, Miss Greene?'

……..

10 minutes later, Holmes was seated in her one and only armchair, whilst Ida leant against the edge of the desk

'So, let me get this straight,' she said. 'You've just been engaged by this rich old woman…'

'…Lady Caroline Crispin-Eastwood…' supplied Holmes

'Oh! Her! She's not _that_ old,' interjected Clarence. Ida ignored him, and continued,

'…right, so, she's lost some of her jewellery, and she suspects that a member of her family might have taken it….'

'…that's right, yes…'

'…and you want _me_ to pretend to be her lady's-maid and find out what's happening…'

'…Lady Crispin-Eastwood is amenable to the idea…'

'Oh _is_ she?'

'I thought that your little piece of subterfuge working in the Hertford's house was….well done…'

'Well done?'

'Of course, you did ruin it with the ridiculous graphologist scenario…'

'….oh…'

'…but, Miss Greene, I have absolute faith in your ability to carry out this assignment…should you choose to take it on.'

'Well,' said Ida, primly 'I'll just have to think about it.'

'You would be rewarded, naturally…'

'…I should hope so…'

There was a momentary pause.

'Please, Miss Greene, it really would be of enormous assistance if…'

Ida glanced over Holmes' shoulder to see Clarence grinning at her. She smiled back.

'I shall assist you in any way I can,' she said.

THE END

* * *

Well, that's it guys...Thankyou very much to everyone who's been reading and I hope you enjoyed it! 


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